


Night at the Chateau

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-01 03:10:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4003570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lavellan takes a bet to stay the night at Chateau d'Onterre. It goes about as well as expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Lavellan arrived at camp, a few hours before sunset, she saw two scouts trudging up the hill, their faces downcast. One of their fellow soldiers saw them and crowed. “Welcome back! Hope you sissies weren’t too scared. Did you even step foot inside of it, or did you take one look at it and run?”

One of the scouts shoved him, and the other told him in no uncertain terms where the soldier could stick his welcome. Lavellan’s lips quirked up and, against her better judgement, she obeyed her curiosity and approached the three men. “What happened?”

“Smitt here’s makin’ fun for usin’ the brain the Maker gave us,” one scout grumbled, glaring at the soldier in question.

Smitt turned to Lavellan with a smug smile. “Not true, my lady. These two took a dare that they would stay the night at the Chateau d’Onterre. Left two hours ago. Now they’re back with their tails between their legs. Just as I figured. No one’s been able to stay the night at that blasted place since we found it.”

“Chateau d’Onterre?” Lavellan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Some fancy Orlesians lived there, once. One of the braver men managed to discover that much before he booked it. Now the place is abandoned—and haunted. C’mon, gotta pay up,” Smitt said, turning to the scouts.

Lavellan crossed her arms. “What if I take the dare for them instead?” she asked.

Smitt shook his head. “Andraste’s ti—er, that wouldn’t be the… wisest course of action, my lady. I mean. You fight dragons. A haunted house would be a piece of cake for you. I’d just be losing my money.”

All this talk of haunted houses—it reminded her of her days of exploring ruins under Keeper Deshanna’s nose. An Orlesian manor would be no different. And besides, one night wouldn’t hurt. She had an extra week to return to Skyhold.

Lavellan half-smiled, unfazed. “Don’t bet against me, then. Spread the word. Make a list of those who think I’ll stay the night and those who think I won’t.”

Smitt’s eyes widened and he looked at the scouts. “I’m sure Cook can make dinner early,” one said, rubbing his jaw. And just like that, they were off, searching for ink and parchment and names and, most importantly, bets.

Cook did indeed make dinner early, in no small part because Cole ran errands while Lavellan and Solas helped with the preparation. As Lavellan skinned the nugs, she told Solas about her plan to stay in the Chateau. When she finished, she grinned at him. “I think you should come along. It’s spooky and abandoned. Think of the _Fade memories_ there.” She waved her fingers and made an ‘ooh’ing noise.

Solas smiled wryly as he stirred the soup pot. “You mock me.”

“Mock you? No, never. _Tease_ you, though…” Lavellan looked down at her nug, then looked back up. “But really, please? Cole already said he would come. I haven’t talked to Dorian yet, but he still owes Josephine lots of money from our last game of Wicked Grace, so it shouldn’t be too hard to convince him. I tried to think of something that would sway you and all I could think of was—”

“Lethallan,” Solas cut her off. “Your company is enough to convince me. I will go.”

Lavellan felt her ears grow hot and she looked down at the nug, unable to bite back her silly grin.

As it turned out at dinner, far more of the soldiers in the Emerald Graves had bet against her than for her. “Sorry, my lady,” one archer said, shaking his head. “There’s just something about that place. Makes a man feel like he’s being hunted. You may fight dragons, but Chateau d’Onterre is another thing entirely.”

“I suppose we’ll just have to see,” Lavellan retorted, to the hoots of the soldiers.

When dinner was over, the sun was just beginning its slow descent. Smitt led the group to the front gates of the Chateau, but no further. When they arrived, the sky was streaked red. The Chateau was a beautiful two-story white-brick building, with blue-roofed spires that reached for the sky. Ivy grew on most of its walls. In the fading light, the vines looked like a thick black spiderweb.

Solas was staring at the Chateau with a strange expression on his face. When Lavellan drew closer to him, he said, “I sense elven magic here. But I do not know why an artifact would be in an Orlesian estate…” He tightened his grip on his staff.

“This is in your hands now, my lady,” Smitt said. He looked at the Chateau and swallowed. “Good luck.”

After he disappeared into the forest behind them, Cole muttered, “It’s not fair. I want to dance, too. Why must I stay in my room?”

“Always a good note to start on,” Dorian declared, shouldering his pack. He glanced at Lavellan and gave her a cavalier smile. “Well, come on then. We won’t get my money by standing here.”

The gates were already ajar, but Dorian pushed it wider, and the shriek the rusted metal made echoed across the lawn. Lavellan winced, but slipped through the gates anyway. The rosebushes that lined the white-brick path were in full bloom, but the fountains behind the bushes were empty and filled with dead leaves from autumns long past.

Lavellan gazed at the remnants of the home, then went to the front door. When she twisted the doorknob, the door swung ajar with a quiet creak. The house was pitch-black inside—not very helpful, since the sun was already going down. Soon it would be total darkness in thirty minutes, tops.

A fireball blossomed inside Dorian’s hand as he stepped inside the entry hall. His firelight pierced the darkness, illuminating the upturned chairs and the cobwebs strung between the paintings and the marble floor.

“I don’t like the feel of this place,” Dorian mused. “Fully furnished. They didn’t even bother putting drapes over the furniture, or covering the paintings. My, they must’ve been in a hurry.”

“Perhaps they were attacked?” Solas suggested. “Though… there is something here, I agree.”

“Guests?” Cole said to no one, his voice bright and happy. But then he stiffened, his voice lowering to something almost… menacing. He lowered his head, his hands flexing. “No. _Intruders._ ”

“Did that sound ominous to anyone else? No? Just me, then,” Dorian said, cheerfully.

“We can turn back—” Lavellan started. For all she loved the ruined keeps she had explored, those adventures had always been in daylight… and they had never been haunted. _Shit._

Dorian waved her off. “No, no, this will be fun! Perhaps they left their beds here, too. I might not have to sleep on my bedroll tonight. What a delightful thought.”

None of them had moved, but as Lavellan cast another glance around the room she spotted a fireplace. Taking a step forward, she gestured to it and said, “Dorian, could you—”

Unbidden, the fireplace roared to life. “I… did not do that,” Dorian muttered, adjusting his staff. Cole took out one of his daggers. Lavellan unhooked her bow and drew an arrow, waiting for a threat. When none came, she slung her bow across her back and approached the fireplace and crouched before it, reaching her hand out.

It gave off heat. It burned orange. But there was no wood to feed it. Lavellan shivered and stood up. “Solas—is it possible that veilfire comes in other colors?” she asked.

“If it exists, I am not aware of it. I cannot help but believe that a spirit lives here now. It would be wise to avoid actions which would anger it. We should move on.” He took a step toward the archway, and a candelabrum on an unnoticed end table sputtered to life. _Good thing Sera isn’t here_ , Lavellan thought.

In the next room they went to, there was an ornate, grand staircase in the middle of the room. Another fireplace burned when they entered. Two bodies lay in front of it, their dried blood staining the floor. “I wasn’t told there were bodies,” Lavellan said, voice faint.

“It’s entirely possible you’re the first person to see them since they died, Inquisitor.” That was Dorian. He was much more somber now than he had been outside, and he had extinguished his fireball.

“Intruders,” Cole snarled. “They were not welcome. They didn’t want to dance, or play, or sing. They wanted to take Mother’s jewelry. I had to stop them.”

Lavellan looked at the spirit of compassion. There had been so much vitriol in his voice… he had wanted to come, but if she had known it would be like this—perhaps it wasn’t a good idea. “Cole, are you all right?” she asked. “Do you want to go back to camp?”

Cole looked up. For the first time since they had been inside, Lavellan could see his face. “No. There’s so much pain here. We can help.”

“That’s good to hear.” She smiled at him, to conceal her worry. “If anything feels wrong, you let me know, all right?”

“Don’t be scared,” Cole replied, his eyes downcast again. “No one can hurt me.”

Lavellan dropped his hand and nodded, taking a deep breath. She moved up the staircase, taking two at a time, and a dusty chandelier sparkled with a thousand candles when she entered the second floor. _A library_ , she thought when she saw the endless shelves, but every book she saw were covered in dust. There were spiderwebs in the corners, too, so there was nothing to tempt her to take a look at what the d’Onterres might have had in their collection.

She found a door that lead to a smaller hallway. Sconces on the walls glowed with warm yellow light and revealed a servants’ staircase and a door at the far end of the hall. Lavellan chose to open the door at the far end of the hall. To her relief, the door led a bedroom. There was enough room for all four of them to lay out their bedrolls, but Dorian shrugged off his pack and flopped across the bed.

“It doesn’t even smell of mothballs,” he said, kicking off his boots. The many candelabra in the room had already hissed to life. _We got this far_ , Lavellan thought, _we might as well stay the night_. She began to set out her own bedroll, but Dorian patted the spot beside him. “Plenty of room for two, Inquisitor. This bed is quite comfortable.”

Dorian stared at Solas as he spoke, and when the elf looked away, his jaw tight, the Tevinter winked at Lavellan. Lavellan snorted and shrugged off her pack, curling next to Dorian on the purple bedspread. “Well, now we’re here,” she said, watching Solas place his wards in the room. “All we have to do is stay here for twelve hours.”

Cole sat, crossing his legs. “So much pain and fear, crippling, crushing. I don’t know how to help her.”

“I am not certain that you can, Cole,” Solas said. He finished the wards when a blue light rippled across the rooms and crossed to the spirit, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Until we know why she is in pain, we cannot help her cross the Fade.”

Someone outside the room started singing—the voice belonged to a child’s, high and clear, and the song was more of a wordless lullaby than anything. Lavellan had never heard the tune before, but somehow it seemed familiar. She propped herself up and considered the door directly across from her—she had no way of knowing where it led, but she wanted to find out what was behind it.

“I need to take a bath,” she said. There must’ve been something in her voice, because everyone gave her a look that implied that a bath was the last thing she needed.

“We bathed this morning,” Dorian said, a trace of worry in his tone. Lavellan stood up, found a spare set of clothes in her bedroll, and plodded to the door. Dorian continued, “Inquisitor, I don’t think that is—”

Lavellan ignored him. When she opened the door, countless candles flickered on, but this time their flames were blue. Veilfire. And the bath in the center—like many Orlesian baths she had seen, it was carved into the floor instead of being a physical object—was already filled with steaming water. The singing was softer in here, but no less haunting. “Spirit of this house, are you in here?” Lavellan asked. The candles flickered and the singing grew louder. “Put out one candle for yes, two candles for no.”

One candle went out. A moment later, it flared to life again, casting a blue hue over the bathwater. Dorian swore softly in Tevene. When she turned around, Cole was shaking his head. Even Solas stepped forward, concern blatant on his face. “Inquisitor—”

“I’m not a mage,” she said. “I can’t be possessed. I’ll shout if I need anything—and I’ll keep the door unlocked.”

She shut the door and rested her spare clothes on the ground. There were towels already waiting for her on a tray beside the bath, and next to the towels were fragrance oils of jasmine and rose. “Do you want me to take a bath?” she asked the room. “Would it make you happy?”

The same candle extinguished, re-lit, and extinguished again. _Two yeses_. Lavellan swallowed her fear and disrobed, stepping into the water. It was pleasantly warm, but the sight of the veilfire’s light on her skin still sent goosebumps up her arms.

“We are here in peace,” she told the air, reaching for the jasmine-scented oil. When nothing happened, she took a breath and kept talking, even as she rubbed the oil in her hair. _The soldiers were right. A dragon is nothing to this._ “Many of my friends have been too scared to go here. They wanted me to come. Your house is really… lonely. From what I’ve seen so far, it seems that you need a friend. Is that true?”

This time, two candles fizzled out.

Without warning, an invisible hand grabbed her ankle and pulled her to the center of the bath. Another hand wrapped around her throat, shoving her to the marble floor so hard her head cracked against the built-in seat. An invisible weight weighed her down, pushing the breath from her lungs. Lavellan was frozen; she couldn’t even thrash to let the others know what was happening. She could still hear the singing under the water—somehow, it was even louder.

Black spots swum across her vision as the weight on her ribcage increased. _I’m going to die_ , she thought. In one last futile attempt to breathe, she opened her mouth—and arms wrapped around her shoulders and legs and lifted _up_. The water rushed away from her and she broke the surface, gasping for air.

“You are safe,” Solas murmured. Lavellan retched, coughing out water. Solas gathered her into his arms and stepped out of the bath. When he looked at her, he kept his eyes only on her face. He wrapped her in the thick towels and drew her close to him. Lavellan didn’t care that he was wet, either. She pressed close to him and shivered, involuntary tears pricking her eyes. She blinked them away, quickly.

She had brushed with death many times, but she had never been held down in a bathtub by an invisible force. It had shaken her, more than she liked to admit. “Creators,” she gasped, shuddering. She balled her hands in his tunic, trying to keep him close as possible. “I’m so sorry. How did you know—?”

“Cole,” Solas said. “He told us that the spirit locked the door.”

The singing stopped abruptly. In a gust of wind, the candles’ wickless flames turned from blue to a bright, vibrant orange. Lavellan shivered, but she already felt warmer. “Thank you, Solas.”

Solas gazed down at her for a long time; even though she knew that she should focus on other, more appropriate things (like her near-death experience, for one), all she could think about was how close they were. If he didn’t kiss her, _she_ would kiss _him_ —

Solas seemed to realize their lack of distance at the same time she did. He cleared his throat. “You should dress,” he suggested, his voice low. Lavellan looked away and nodded. _Get it together._ When he left, shutting the door behind him, she dropped the towels and got into her fresh set of clothes as fast as she could. When she returned the towels, she saw a tiny piece of paper sticking out from underneath the tray.

When she emerged from the room, Dorian grabbed her shoulders. “Never do that again, all right?” he insisted. When Lavellan nodded, he relaxed, slipping back into his easygoing façade. “Good. As much as it pleases me to know I was right once more, I would rather not have a heart attack in the process.”

“The door locked,” Cole said, frowning. “You were bathing, but she locked the door and she wanted to _hurt_ you—”

Lavellan hugged him. He stiffened, but hesitantly brought up a hand to pat her back. “Thank you, Cole,” she said, pulling away. “If it weren’t for you, I would be dead.”

“Your death would hurt a lot of people,” Cole mused. “Please don’t die.”

“I will do my best, I promise.” She half-smiled and sat down on the bed, holding the paper in front of her. She looked at it again and her smile slipped away.

“I found this in there, underneath the bath tray,” she said. “It was torn from something. I think… I think it’s a diary page.”

Solas leaned against the wall, Cole sat on a dresser, and Dorian settled next to her. “Well, do go on, don’t keep us in suspense,” the Tevinter urged. “What does it say?”

“It’s not fair. I want to go outside,” she murmured, heart in her throat. Cole, staring into space, joined her as she kept reading aloud. Their entwined voices were the only noise in the manor. “I have a new friend now. She understands me. She’ll help make things fair again.”

No one spoke when she put the diary page down. Dorian shut his eyes and ground the heels of his palms into his eyes. “An abomination,” he sighed. “Just the thing to make my night. How ever  _did_ you know, Inquisitor?”

“Okay, in my defense, I thought the soldiers were scared of the house’s creaky floors,” Lavellan said. Right outside their door, the floor creaked, and the whole group tensed. After a moment, the noise—it sounded suspiciously like footsteps—faded away. Lavellan tried to steady her racing heartbeat but failed. “I didn’t know the place was haunted by a damn abomination!”

“I think it would be best if we all prepare for sleep,” Solas said. “The wards should be strong enough to stay overnight. If we are to face an abomination tomorrow, we will need all the rest we can get.”

“Solas, have I ever mentioned you have been _bursting_ with good ideas of late?” Dorian asked. He lay back down and closed his eyes, folding his hands behind his head. “The pillows are a bit musty for my taste, but it’ll do.”

“Happy dreaming,” Cole told them. He smiled when a chorus of “happy dreaming”s answered him.


	2. Chapter 2

Lavellan opened her eyes to see herself standing outside the Chateau d’Onterre’s gates. Solas stood next to her. “Solas?” she asked, confused. What kind of dream was this?

“I said earlier that I suspect this place is inhabited by a spirit which has been unable to pass through the Fade,” Solas told her, studying the Chateau. “I believe that if we view the memories of this place, we will be able to see what happened and potentially find a way to ease, if not facilitate, the spirit’s passing.”

“We?” Lavellan repeated, tasting the word on her tongue. She liked it.

Solas’s ears tinged pink. “I… believed you might like to see them with me. That was presumptuous of me. I apologize—”

“No.” Lavellan smiled. “No, it was fine. I would love to.”

Solas offered his arm, and she rested her hand against the crook of his elbow. He led her through the gates, and she felt the waves of the memory wash over her. When she looked down, she wore a sparkling golden dress. Solas wore a military officer’s uniform; rows of medals decorated his right breast. Neither of them wore masks, and no one noticed their presence.

The rosebushes were in full bloom, but this time the fountains behind them were spewing clear water. The lawn was immaculately manicured. The house itself was scrubbed a sparkling white. No ivy grew on the bricks, and the blue spires that reached for the sky seemed brighter. Lavellan looked up at one of the upper story windows and spotted a face in the window. It disappeared in a heartbeat, making her question if she had imagined it. “Did you see that?” she asked Solas. He nodded and folded his own hand over hers, steering her toward the entrance.

A couple stood by the large entry doors. “Monsieur and Madame d’Onterre,” the couple in front of them greeted. Solas and Lavellan slipped past the shades, but Lavellan still managed to hear the conversation. “As I’ve told my husband before, I’ve always adored your parties. This one will be just as splendid, but he doesn’t believe me! He thinks nothing can surpass the Midsummer ball you held last year.” They all laughed, sharing their own private joke.

Solas moved his hand to the small of her back. “We should look upstairs,” he murmured, pressing his lips against the shell of her ear. Lavellan shivered and nodded, easily swerving between people to reach the grand staircase. The staircase only led them to a large library. A mage was studying in the corner. He was so nondescript Lavellan almost didn’t notice him. She watched him for a few minutes, but when he did nothing except flip a page, she continued on her way.

“Lethallan, come look at this,” Solas said, something darker in his tone. It was the same tone he’d used when arguing about the Qun with Bull—the same tone he’d used with Sera when she had mocked him for speaking Elvish. Lavellan turned to see him poring over an open tome. Whatever was in that book… she almost didn’t want to read it.

She joined his side and pulled the book toward her to have a better look. Solas pushed away from the table. The book was essentially a guideline to prevent having children with magical talents—and if one was so unfortunate as to have a mage for a child, there were instructions on how to ‘deal’ with the problem accordingly. One of the ways to expel the magic involved dunking the child in cold water until they were on the brink of drowning, and then pulling them out.

 _Oh_ , Lavellan thought, her stomach sinking. She suddenly had a very clear of what had happened to this manor. But she could not muster any sympathy for the d’Onterres—at least, not the adults. “Who would do this to their child?” she whispered.

“Anyone whose fear has robbed them of all sense,” Solas said, shaking his head. “This is what happens when organizations like the Chantry and the Circle promote the ridiculous idea that magic is something monstrous, something to either control or destroy. Such attempts never end well. I cannot imagine what—”

At that moment, a girl burst through the door that Lavellan had walked through to get to the bedroom. The child was dressed in a pale blue dress and wore oversized white gloves. She came up to Lavellan’s waist, if that. Pearls hung from her ears and wrapped around her throat, but something about the way the child carried herself implied that the pearls did not belong to her.

“Mistress Thérèse—” a voice called from the hallway. Thérèse flicked her wrist and the door slammed shut.

The mage in the library shrunk further into the corner as the girl hurried to the staircase, but the child paid him no attention. Solas and Lavellan exchanged a glance and followed Thérèse Onterre. She hurried through the halls and smiled at the adults, who returned her waves with puzzled looks. Whispers followed the girl, but she paid them no mind.

The first thing Lavellan noticed about the ballroom was the large stuffed dragon hanging from the ceiling. Chandeliers were ablaze on all four sides of it, making it the most prominent aspect of the room. The Onterres had moved to stand in front of a fireplace, greeting guests. Thérèse clasped her gloved hands behind her back and joined their side, greeting a guest with a cheerful, “Good evening!”

Madame Onterre’s face blanched. The man they had been speaking to stared down at the child. “Good evening.” He looked up. “Eloise, who is this?”

“My daughter.” Madame Onterre’s smile was thin and pained. “Thérèse, please return to your room. This is for Mother and her guests.”

Thérèse frowned. “You said that one day I could dance at one of your parties.”

“Yes, one day,” Madame agreed. “Just not tonight.”

Thérèse’s face darkened. “Just not tonight. Just not tomorrow. Just not ever. My friend told me you lied to me. She said you’re afraid of me. She was right!”

“Enough with that nonsense. You shame the Onterre family name with such talk,” Monsieur Onterre cut in, frowning at his daughter. Thérèse looked down, chastened. “Will you go on your own or shall I fetch Cook to take you to your room?”

“But I—”

“Thérèse,” her mother said, impatience coloring her tone. “Return to your room this instant—”

“No! I want to _dance!_ ” Thérèse stomped her foot, and a wave of red magic pulsed through the room. Almost immediately, the band picked up their instruments and began to play, and the guests went to find partners.

Solas turned to Lavellan and offered his hand. “Will you do me the honor?” he asked, but something in his voice sounded… mechanical. Lavellan’s hand took his before she could even think to accept, and something forced her legs to move toward the raised dance floor.

“Solas, what’s going on?” she asked through clenched teeth. They took their positions alongside the other couples, and at a certain note in the music, they began to waltz.

Lavellan did not know how to waltz. It was one of the dances Josephine had shown her in Skyhold in preparation for the Imperial Court’s ball, but she had been worse at it than Iron Bull. Nevertheless, her legs moved without her direction, and her neck was perpetually tilted up at Solas, even though she tried to move her head to look around.

“I do not know,” Solas replied, his words just as forced as hers. “Normally in memories, one is an observer, not an active participant. Unless—”

He spun her around before he could finish and released her hand, and Lavellan rejoined the dance with a new partner. “The Onterres have a demon for a child,” her partner gritted out. “What is the creature doing to us?”

Lavellan could not reply. The man spun her and she was once again with Solas. “Unless what?” she asked. But his forehead creased, as if he did not know to what she referred. “You said that Dreamers were observers in the Fade memories, not active participants, unless…”

Understanding dawned. “Ah.” He smiled, but said nothing. He dipped her and said, “You are so beautiful. Of course he would fall. Who would not? When he leaves you…” He hummed. “Your pain will be a good meal, but his— _his_ pain will be the feast.”

His eyes flashed red and he pulled her back up. Talking felt more constricted now, but her fear began to overpower her confusion. “You’re—you’re not Solas,” she said. _A demon._

The demon laughed, giving her a sharp smile. “Observant.”

Thérèse and a man swept by them, dominating the center of the dance floor. Thérèse was laughing, utterly oblivious to the fear around her. The not-Solas spun her again, pushed her toward the waiting arms of a new partner. But before she reached the man, Cole shoved him away and grabbed her hands.

“Cole, help,” she begged. She was already starting the steps, but without his participation she couldn’t get very far.

“You are free,” the spirit told her, pressing his thumb to her forehead. The stiffness in her limbs melted away, and Lavellan sagged against the spirit. Cole helped her regain her balance. “There’s so much fear and pain, but she’s too happy to see.”

“Cole, how are you here?” she gasped. She knew that Cole was able to move through the Fade more easily now that he had become more like a spirit than a human, but it didn’t explain his sudden appearance.

“They wanted to hurt you,” Cole said, simply.

Lavellan remembered the demon she’d danced with and turned to Cole. Could he be corrupted, just by being in their presence? She didn’t know, but she didn’t want to risk it. “Cole, listen to me. You must leave this dream. Return to the real world, where we fell asleep. You’ll be safe there. I’ll help Solas. Please, can you do that?”

Cole nodded and vanished. Lavellan rolled her shoulders and winced at her tense muscles’ protest. Great. Now she had to find Solas—the real Solas. She got another look at the dancers, looking for a bald head among the masks.

One of the men dipped his partner, but her weight was too much for his tired arms and he dropped her. The woman’s head cracked against the marble, and blood began to stain the stone. The man made a strangled, horrified gasp, but his body turned to seek out a new dance partner. Another couple—the man stepped on the woman’s gown, ripping off half her dress, but they continued dancing. In the band, a violin string snapped, slicing open the throat of the man who played it.

The band still played, and the dancers still continued their waltz. A man tripped and cracked his head open on the raised platform’s railing, and his partner’s sobs of terror were buried underneath the music and Thérèse’s delighted laughter. Lavellan ignored the bile rising in her throat and pushed past the dancers. At last, she found him—dancing with a version of _her_ , no less. The demon had taken her exact form.

As Lavellan pushed through the crowd, she watched Solas. He was entranced, unable to take his eyes off the demon’s face. “Solas!” Lavellan shouted, but the music drowned her out and a couple cut in front of her.

When she spotted Solas and her demon-self again, the demon was kissing Solas. _Fenedhis._ Lavellan burst into a run, shoving dancers out of the way. When she reached the couple, she tore her demon-self from Solas and punched her in the face. The demon staggered away, clutching her nose. When her demon-self looked up, her smile was full of pointed teeth. The demon hissed and re-entered the crowd.

“Will you do me the honor?” Solas asked her, holding his hand out. Lavellan did not grab his hand this time.

“Solas, this place is full of demons. You are the most powerful Dreamer I know. You need to break free of this spell. _Please_.”

Something flickered behind Solas’s eyes. “That is not an answer. Will you do me the honor?”

Lavellan did the only thing she could. She touched his forehead and whispered, “Wake up.”

Solas vanished. Lavellan let out a breathy, nervous titter. It had _worked_.

Thérèse was still dancing, even as the others couples collapsed on the floor. Joy radiated from her entire body. “Mother, look!” she cried. Lavellan saw Madame Onterre, weeping by the fireplace, and her daughter’s words made her outright sob.

Lavellan pushed past the falling dancers and returned to the library, but the mage was gone. The library was empty. Lavellan sat on the floor and shut her eyes. Now what was she going to do? She wasn’t a Dreamer. She could not bend the Fade to her will. She’d sent the only one who could back to reality, and she had no idea how to wake herself up… she looked at the windows.

She pushed open one of the windows and climbed onto the balcony below the window. When she stood on the balcony, she looked over the ledge to stare at the ground. _No, it’s not high enough_. She turned to re-enter the house and saw a strand of ivy climbing to the blue-slate roof. Suppressing a smile, she grabbed the ivy and tugged. When she was sure the plant would support her weight, she started climbing.

She clambered up the roof tiles until the statues in the garden seemed smaller than her thumb. When she was high enough, she turned around and broke into the run. The moment she reached the ledge, she leapt off the roof.

Just before she hit the ground, she woke up.

* * *

The fire was still burning when she opened her eyes. Dorian was sound asleep. “Solas?” she whispered.

“I am here. Cole as well.”

She sighed in relief and slumped back against the pillows. The details of the dream were already fading, but she clung to what remained, running the facts over and over in her mind. “Poor girl,” she whispered.

“Her hands are scabbed, shaking—she picks up the present. It will make her feel better. There’s no one else but her.” Cole shook his head. “Dark and abandoned and alone. She never wanted this.”

“Where is she now, Cole?” Lavellan prompted. “Can we help her?”

“Yes. A box on the balcony, broken but whole.”

That meant nothing to her. Lavellan got up and stretched. “I’m going to take a walk. I’ll be back. I just… need to clear my head.”

“I will join you. We do not know what else is in this house. It would be better to learn, as opposed to remaining in here. Cole, will you stay with Dorian?”

“Yes.” Cole brightened. “We can talk about his father, when he wakes up. He didn’t want to talk about it, before, but… he might in here.”

Lavellan gave the spirit a wan smile. “Good idea,” she said, hoping that Dorian didn’t wake up anytime soon—or if he did, she hoped he was alone when he and Cole had that talk. Solas had not been there for that conversation, but he had the good sense not to ask Cole for details.

The house was quiet when she stepped outside with Solas. This time, when the sconces lit up, she didn’t jump. “What is on your mind, lethallan?” Solas asked. Lavellan stopped in front of a portrait of a woman with sad eyes and half-pursed lips. _Nanette d’Onterre, ma belle rose._

“I just… I can’t imagine people fearing their child so much that they locked her away.” She thought of a toddler being submerged in a tub of water and shuddered. Footsteps padded over the rug behind her, but when she turned to look there was no one there.

“Fear often forces people to take a course of action they may think necessary, even if it is unpleasant.” Solas pushed open a door to reveal an unlit antechamber. When he stepped inside, the room was immediately bathed in soft orange light.

The disembodied voice began to sing again, but the ghostly tune stuttered and stopped, replaced by a child-like sob. Lavellan quickened her pace, hoping that wherever she was going would be free of the ghost. When she passed the last floor candelabrum, nothing else lit up. The only source of light was the moonlight from the massive windows, spilling across the floor in blue and silver shades.

Lavellan lifted her head and spotted the stuffed dragon. The thing was a hulking shadow now that there were no chandeliers to display its brilliance, but it was distinct from the darkness that surrounded it. A chill went down her back. One of the windows was broken, and a gentle breeze carried faint traces of voices as it brushed her cheek.

_I want to dance. I want to dance…_

Solas touched her elbow, making her start and pull away from him. Solas’s hand dropped, expression apologetic. “I apologize. You seemed…” he trailed off.

Lavellan rubbed her arms, ignoring the goosebumps that prickled across her body. “What did the demon say to you?” she asked. It _had_ to be a desire demon—it wouldn’t have kissed Solas if it wasn’t. It wasn’t the kiss that concerned her, but the things the demon had said to get a kiss from him.

Solas looked away, studying the glass shards on the floor and the moonlight distorted between the pieces. “It was a foolish fantasy. Something that could never come to pass.”

Lavellan drew closer to him, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it beating against her ribs. “I’ll be the judge of that,” she murmured. Solas glanced at her, then looked away again. Lavellan was lucky her years as a huntress had taught her patience. Otherwise, she would have tired of their constant cat-and-mouse many weeks ago, when he requested time to _think_ and then said nothing of the matter ever again.

She looked over her shoulder and started when she saw a corpse. The woman on the floor wore a blue dress and a bloodstain was fixed in a pool around her head, but the body was too decayed to make out any other details. Still, Lavellan felt her stomach lurch at the sight, because she knew exactly who that woman had been. She had seen her death with her own eyes.

“I don’t want to stay here,” she said. Solas nodded, and she headed for the door facing her, rather than the antechamber that led back to the bedrooms. When she opened it, pitch black greeted her. As her eyes adjusted, she saw a small globe and other abandoned trunks. They had walked into a closet.

She almost turned around, but Solas breathed, “Wait.” She paused, inhaling slowly when she felt his warmth at her shoulder. “Do you not feel it? The artifact.”

She looked at the globe again, but with her newly-adjusted eyes she could see that it was not a world map, but a ball of cracked stone with an owl’s face resting on top of it. “They must’ve hoped it would contain her magic,” she whispered. She stepped forward and placed her hand on the animal’s head, as she had hundreds of times before.

Green light enveloped the room as the artifact’s magic stirred a wind, lifting Lavellan’s hair from her face. Lavellan smiled, eyes sliding open as the artifact’s hum filled the air. The closet was illuminated in green light now, casting a soft tint on them both. And Solas—her breath caught in her throat. The only word she could think of to describe his expression was _reverent._

“When we go back to camp,” she whispered, her heart still in her throat. “We should take this with us, to give to Keeper Hawen. I know he would appreciate it.”

Solas’s expression darkened at the mention of the Dalish, and she frowned at him. “You won’t have to come if you don’t want to,” she said. “It’s the right thing to do. The d’Onterres don’t need this anymore.”

“You’re right.” He sighed and shook his head slightly. “When dawn comes, we will return for this.”

This time she went across the ballroom, steadfastly ignoring the bodies, old and new, that still lay slumped on the floor. A fire roared to life when she stepped on the upraised platform at the end of the room. Another piece of yellowed paper rested on the red armchair’s cushion.

She picked it up, furrowing her brow when she saw a sketch on the paper. A man sitting on a seven-pointed star was drawn in orange, with other details drawn behind him in white. When she flipped it over, she saw the same cursive script of the previous diary entry. She scanned the words, wordlessly handing it to Solas when she was done. Solas read it and sighed, returning the diary entry to its place. “I… these _fucking_ shems. They neglected their daughter _so_ much she felt the need to turn to a demon for friendship.”

A childlike laugh drifted in from the windows, and Lavellan heard a violin string snap. “In the clan, we valued every child,” she whispered. “I had three brothers and a sister. One of my brothers had an affinity for lightning magic, and he was sent to another Clan knowing _full well_ how much we loved him. If he had been treated this way… I understand the caution around mages, but—she was a _child_ , Solas!”

“There is nothing you can do for her now, lethallan,” Solas said. “Except, perhaps, discover a way for her to pass into the Fade and find her own peace.”

That did nothing for her. Lavellan turned and saw a smaller staircase. This one led to another antechamber, which in turn led to ornate blue double doors. The hinges squealed as Lavellan opened one door, making her wince. Two candelabra sputtered to life—it was just enough light to illuminate the dragon’s gaping maw, and the hundreds of curved teeth within it.

Well, that was a pleasant sight. Lavellan turned to the row of windows on her left and smiled when she saw a glass door. Solas took a moment to re-admire the dragon before he joined her on the balcony. They fell into a natural, easy silence. Lavellan leaned on the balcony, her gaze sweeping over the garden. It was just a pool of water and dead plants choked by dead weeds, but in the moonlight, it was still beautiful.

“Really, though, what did the demon say to you?” Lavellan half-smirked despite the nervousness clenching in her gut. If she hadn’t been there… who knew what else the thing could’ve done to him. “Must’ve said some… _enticing_ things to get you to kiss it.”

“ _It_ kissed _me_ ,” Solas corrected, an amused half-smirk playing on his lips. “And then you punched it, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Solas.” Lavellan drew closer. She couldn’t stop herself—she rested her hand on his arm, splaying her fingers across the soft, worn cotton. “Please. You’re not answering the question.”

“It does not matter now. Please, let it go.”

She frowned. _What_ could have happened? _What_ could have made him so reluctant to share his details of their shared dream? “I’ll tell you what my demon said to me.”

Solas looked at her, his gaze sharpening with visible worry and—fear? “A demon? You danced with one, as well?” When she nodded, he turned fully to her. “How did you resist the compulsion?”

“Cole freed me. I don’t know how. But I think that that whole dance was populated with demons. That’s why we had to dance—it wasn’t just a memory.”

“What did it say to you? Did it harm you?”

Lavellan smiled. “Answer my question first.”

“ _Ellana._ ”

It was rare he used her first name—nowadays it was lethallan, or, rarely, Inquisitor. Lavellan shook her head, keeping her mouth shut. Hearing her name on his lips sent her heartbeat skittering, but she was not going to budge. She was sure that whatever her demon-self had told him was more interesting than the doom-and-gloom of the not-Solas, anyway.

Solas sighed, giving up the argument. “We made conversation about the upcoming ball at the Imperial Court. It asked me if I wanted to join it at the Winter Palace. We did not dance long.”

Lavellan huffed a laugh, amused. “That’s it? _That’s_ what you were so reluctant to tell me?”

Solas did not look at her as he added, “She—it… called me vhenan, among other things.”

Lavellan froze, her hand tightening on his arm. _Creators_. She didn’t know how quite to respond to that. She had figured it had been a desire demon, but desire came in many forms. Love was one of them, naturally. But… the depth of love that warranted the use of _vhenan_ had not been in her considerations.

Solas shook his head, gently shaking off her touch. “Ir abelas, lethallan. As I said, it was foolishness.”

Lavellan darted in front of him, stopping him from reaching the door. “No, Solas,” she whispered. She stepped forward, brushing against him. Her hand skimmed over his chest and ended up cradling the back of his head. “It wasn’t.”

She was not sure who made the first move. Their kiss started as a peck, which turned into a little brush. Another brush—one of Solas’s hands wrapped itself in her hair, and the other cupped her elbow. He tilted her head, deepening the kiss, and Lavellan took the opportunity to gently bite his lower lip and drag it between her teeth. Solas’s answering growl made her legs quiver and she smiled against the kiss.

She was distantly aware of them moving, but she didn’t pay attention to it until her back hit the stone wall. Her gasp allowed Solas’s tongue to sweep into her mouth, eliciting a breathy moan from her. The noise made Lavellan’s cheeks heat, but she didn’t stop. Creators, she never wanted this to stop.

She ran her hands down his chest and snuck them under his shirt, relishing in the feel of his muscles jumping under her touch. Solas’s knee nudged between her thighs and he lifted her wandering hands, pinning them above her head and entwining his fingers with hers. When they broke apart, Lavellan was gasping for air and rubbing against his leg, and Solas was pressing open-mouthed kisses down her neck. Heat curled in the pit of her belly and she tilted her head, allowing him better access. Her knee brushed against his arousal, and she was rewarded with a sharp bite on her collarbone, quickly soothed with his tongue.

“Solas,” she whimpered, breathless and needy. She arched against him, craving _more_ , but her mind was too cloudy to clearly say what she wanted. Solas looked up. When their gazes met, the haze of pleasure in his eyes faded away and he blinked. Lavellan’s heart sank. _No_ —Solas released her hands and stepped away, clearing his throat as he turned back to the dead garden below them.

“What did your demon say to you?” he asked, clasping his hands behind his back. His voice was hoarse and rasping; it sent shivers of desire through her limbs all over again. He must’ve noticed it as well, because he cleared his throat. Lavellan had forgotten all about the not-Solas. She caught her breath and stood up, not bothering to fix her hair. She ran the words over and over in her head, trying to make sure they were the correct.

“It said I was beautiful,” she said, ignoring Solas’s slight flinch. She didn’t want to tell him about the whole _falling for her_ part. After their kiss and his reaction, she wasn’t sure how he would react to that. “And it said… ‘When he leaves you… Your pain will be a good meal, but his? His pain will be the feast.’ Do you know what it meant?”

Solas stiffened, his hands clenching into fists. After a moment, he inhaled sharply, and the aura of calm that always surrounded him returned. “Ir abelas, Inquisitor. I do not. I will meet you back at the room—you know how to get there, yes?”

Lavellan nodded, retracing her steps in her head. Solas gave her a curt nod and left the balcony. Lavellan watched his silhouette disappear into the antechamber and sighed. He had quite obviously lied to her, but she could tell when Solas was at his limit. She could always ask him about it later. Perhaps he’d be more amenable to telling her the truth when they were at Skyhold.

“Great job,” she whispered to herself. She hugged her elbows and went to the edge of the balcony, looking over the garden once again. Now that there were no distractions, she was able to spot the dim yellow light that shone from the center balcony. If it had been daylight, she wouldn’t have noticed it.

 _A box on the balcony, broken but whole._ Lavellan frowned and looked at the pool, directly across from the strange source of light. In front of the pool stood a bust… and the bust rested on a seven-pointed star. Without thinking, Lavellan turned and hurried to the ground floor, opening every closed door she saw until one led into the garden. She stopped to pick some stray elfroot and embrium, but then she returned to her mission.

Behind the bust was another piece of paper, half-submerged in water. Lavellan picked up the one that wasn’t wet and held it up, examining the sketch on it. She’d have to take the sketch back, to show the group—

Out of nowhere, the house _groaned_. That was truly the only word she could think of when she heard it. It was a deep, bone-chilling noise that made her look up, tensed and ready to flee an attacker. A biting wind, unusually cold for a summer breeze, whistled through the garden and made the herbs in her hand tremble.

Gooseflesh rippled across her arms and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She had to get back to their room now. Lavellan tightened her grip on her herbs and returned to the ballroom. This time when she moved inside the ballroom, the chandeliers that flanked the dragon lit up, twinkling and bathing the room in a soft white glow.

Lavellan could not stop herself from looking at the dance floor, her gaze settling on the corpses laying where they’d died. Footsteps shuffled above her, making her tense and look up. The house groaned again, and she heard a child’s laughter on the back of the noise.

When she looked back down, the woman who had cracked her head on the dance floor’s railing was getting to her feet.


	3. Chapter 3

Lavellan looked first for a weapon. It was probably not the smartest idea—she could still get away and find the bedroom, if she was fast enough. As she was looking, the fireplace sparked, crackling with blue flames instead of orange, and the chandeliers’ white light also turned blue. The extra light illuminated the display of swords on the wall next to her. There had to be twelve of them, crisscrossed together in some intricate design. Lavellan grabbed one of the hilts, but the sword she’d grabbed wouldn’t budge. They were probably welded together, then. Great.

Lavellan’s gaze traveled back to the undead woman. The Orlesian had jumped over the dance floor railing and now shuffled toward her, an eerie blue light the same color as the fireplace in her eyes. Her forehead had split on the far left side, a dark red gash against her pale skin. Her dress was dusty and eaten by mothballs. She was the only obstacle to the bedroom, but Lavellan did not want to risk it. She had learned her lesson in the Fallow Mire—the undead were sneaky and fast. There was no telling how they would act with a demon pulling their strings.

So instead of running past the woman, Lavellan took the long route, sprinting across the room and rounding the corner of the upraised dancing floor. She heard metal clanging behind her, and even the rusty shriek of a sword as it was pulled loose from the display—when she turned to look, the corpse woman had abandoned going after her. Instead, she was tugging a sword out of its place in the wall decoration.

Out of nowhere, a hand snuck out and grabbed her ankle, tripping her. Lavellan landed hard on her hands, grunting at the pain that snaked over her wrists. She half-turned to see one of the dancers, his torso hanging over the dance floor’s platform. One of his hands rested on the floor, and the other—fingers broken, mottled, and gray—was wrapped against her ankle.

Lavellan dropped to the floor and kicked the corpse full in the face, pouring every ounce of anger and savagery into her kick. The corpse’s nose crunched as it broke, but it still did not release its hold on her. Lavellan scrambled back, sending a panicked look toward the Orlesian woman shuffling toward her with the sword. For a woman who had been dead for years, she moved quickly.

With no other option, she sat up and forcibly pried the hand off her ankle, kicking the corpse whenever it tried to grab her with his free hand. By the time she scrambled free, the woman was standing over her, her hands raised and blade pointed over her abdomen. There was no way Lavellan could jump out of the way.

She heard the rush of wind before she felt it, and managed to smile just before a pair of hands scooped her from the floor.  Her arm wound around his shoulders on instinct, her stomach twisting as they stepped through the Fade.

Solas skidded to a halt in the archway that connected to a hallway they had yet to explore. Lavellan swayed when he lowered her to the floor, but she regained her balance in moments. “Thanks,” she whispered. She pushed against his chest, still smarting from his abandonment at the balcony. “Decide to come back, huh? What changed your mind?”

She managed to sound teasing, but only just.

Solas glared at her. “I heard the house and turned back to find you. When it made that noise, it sent out waves of dark magic. I could not imagine what it would have been used for, but now…” he huffed. Already more dead dancers were getting to their feet, and the ones already standing had turned to shuffle toward them.

If she had had her bow, and he his staff, they would have turned around and continued the fight, instead of having a conversation. But they were unarmed, and though she was sure Solas did not need a staff to fight, she did not want to be helpless while he did all the work.

“We need to go.” Lavellan found herself pushing against his shoulder, but instead of running across the ballroom to the antechamber’s stairway, Solas took her hand and turned to go through the darkened hallway behind them. A wall of ice rose up, blocking off the dead from the hallway. Nevertheless, Lavellan saw the tip of a blade sprout through the edge.

This time, though Lavellan could discern the shapes of many sconces, none of them flared to give the elves light. The spirit was no longer feeling so generous. If her night vision had been as bad as a shem’s, she would’ve stumbled along and probably crashed into something.

As it was, she and Solas walked side-by-side. It was a bad time to talk about the kiss they’d shared not ten minutes ago; even she knew that. But she still could not resist the sidelong glances she gave him, and she couldn’t stop herself from remembering his heat pressed against her.

When they passed a floor candelabrum will candles still in it, Solas tried to light it. The candle hissed as flame met wick, but in a moment, the flame blew out. Solas frowned. Lavellan heard laughter and footsteps behind her, but the hall was empty when she looked.

She hadn’t looked at the bets, but now she was really hoping the soldiers betting against her had put a lot of money down. Creaky floors, she could handle. She could even handle the sighs and whispers of conversations that echoed from nowhere inside the house. But she drew a line at the undead. When she got back, she was going to take every penny they had.

Lavellan passed two golden lion statues. One had rubies in its eyes, and the other had empty eye sockets. So thieves had gotten this far, then. Were they roaming the Chateau as undead, as well? Refusing to dwell on it, she looked down and spotted a slip of paper tucked between one pair of shining paws. She took it and unfolded it. “Solas, come here,” she said. He stopped at her shoulder and produced a tiny flame, which gave off enough light to read the note.

_I had to make myself breakfast this morning. It wasn’t very good. I can't stop crying. I don't know what to do. My friend says there's a way to be less lonely. She says not to be afraid._

Lavellan heard a footstep on the soft carpet and turned around, dropping the diary page.

A bandit, his throat slashed and gory, stepped out from behind a statue of one of the d’Onterres. He had a knife in his bloody hand.

Before he could shuffle toward them, Solas made a gesture and ice sprouted to the thief’s knees, trapping him in place. Lavellan sprung forward, tossing the knife to Solas and getting behind the undead man. She placed one hand on his head and wrapped her free arm around his neck. Broken nails scraped at her skin, but she fought down the shudder and twisted hard, snapping the creature’s neck.

The undead went slack and fell to the floor, eyes open and moving but powerless to do anything. Lavellan took the knife from Solas and grinned. “Thanks for the knife,” she told the thing on the floor. She stepped over his body and continued on her way.

“So,” she began, twirling the knife in her hands. Knives didn’t come easily as a bow, but she had used them plenty of times in tight spots. This counted as a tight spot. “How do you think Dorian will react if I say we should leave?”

Solas huffed a laugh. “I could not say, Inquisitor.”

“I’m Inquisitor again?” Lavellan cocked a hip and stopped in front of a door flanked by two paintings. She tried twisting the knob, only to find it was locked. “One little kiss is all it takes to set us back that far?”

“I would not consider that one little kiss.”

“Sure. But was it impulsive and ill-considered, or whatever you told me after our Fade kiss?”

Solas said nothing, and in the silence Lavellan heard the whisper of a bowstring being pulled taut. Solas heard it as well, but before he could react Lavellan grabbed him and pulled them flush against the hard blue door. The arrow whizzed past their ears and clanged off one of the lions.

Lavellan didn’t have her lockpicking kit with her. When she looked down the hall, she could make out the shapes of undead in front of her—not one, not two, not even four. _Six_. All but two of them were armed in some way. _Fenedhis_. “Freeze the doorknob,” she told Solas. When he did, she hit the doorknob as hard as she could with the hilt of her knife, and the brittle metal snapped off. This time, the door met no resistance as it swung open.

Solas erected an ice wall to further hamper the creatures and followed her into the room. The fireplace sparked to life at their entrance, its light a steady and calming orange. “Our heart-to-hearts really need to stop getting interrupted like this,” Lavellan told him, shutting and locking the door. At least this doorknob worked. “You’re really good at that magic stuff, by the way.”

Solas smirked. “I would hope so.”

Lavellan smacked his shoulder good-naturedly. “That’s not what I meant. I thought mages needed a staff for… you know, magic.” _Creators. If I got dragged off by undead right now, I wouldn’t even mind._

“You sound like Sera.” Lavellan pulled a face at the reminder of the elf who sneered at anything too elfy for her—which was to say, _everything_ that had to do with elves or their culture. Solas’s expression softened. “No. Magic aided with a staff is certainly the better option. Using an item to channel the magic makes one’s spellcasting smoother, more potent, and spells are less prone to backfire. But free-hand magic is also possible, with adequate practice. The healing arts, in fact, are more efficient when the hands are used as their channel.”

As he spoke, Lavellan observed the room in which they stood. It seemed a servant’s quarters, of sorts. Beds were lined up against one side of the wall, nothing more than straw pallets with rough-spun blankets thrown over them. She made noises periodically to let him know she was listening, even as she crouched in front of a trunk by the fireplace and rummaged inside it.

When he was done, Lavellan nodded, as if any of that made sense to her. “I see.” She took a pouch of dragonling scales—what were dragonling scales doing in the servants’ quarters?—from the trunk and stood up, returning to the beds. Some of them had soot on them, as if there had been a fire here.

Solas had wandered to one of the beds and picked up a piece of paper. He tucked it inside his shirt and nodded. At her questioning gaze, he said, “Another journal entry. We may be able to examine it once we return to the others.”

Lavellan sniffed. “Do you smell that?”

There was a heartbeat of silence. “Burning flesh.”

The firelight changed abruptly from orange to blue. Lavellan heard faint, distant screams on the gust of wind the flames brought into the room. They seemed more a memory than an echo. _I had to make myself breakfast this morning._  Had the girl burned the servants alive? Lavellan stared at the fireplace and swallowed. “I think that’s our cue to leave.”

Solas opened the door at the end of the room, revealing the garden outside. At that moment, a sword tip sprouted through the door behind them, splintering the wood. Lavellan pushed him outside and shut the door, wincing as the door she’d locked splintered and the dead poured in. She took a moment to glance around—the pool was on her right, and a row of windows across from her. But that couldn’t have been the ballroom, because that was where they came from—it had to be the foyer, with the staircase that led back to the bedroom. To safety.

“Come on!” She sprinted across, knowing Solas was following. They hadn’t bothered to lock the door behind them, and the dead spilled out. From another door, two more emerged, and the woman who had cracked her head open was watching them from one of the balconies. Solas wrapped a barrier tight around them. Lavellan slashed at whoever came too close, but she was too focused on getting to the door across the courtyard to stand and fight. “Cover me,” she shouted to Solas.

She reached the door and twisted the doorknob, but it was locked. Its twin door, only a few paces away, was locked as well. Lavellan muttered a curse and looked over her shoulder. Solas was freezing enemies as best he could, but there was only so much he could do without his staff.

In the corner of her eye, she saw an undead creeping up on him. A warning cry clawed its way up her throat, but before she could shout the creature had reached him. She tightened her grip on the knife’s hilt and threw it. The blade embedded itself through the creature’s neck and it slumped to the ground. Solas didn’t even acknowledge the felled man.

Lavellan turned back to the door. Taking a deep breath, she punched through the glass next to the doorknob and reached in, hissing as the glass scraped at her arm. She hadn’t expected a fight, so she hadn’t put on any armor after her bath. She was only in breeches and a loose cotton shirt, an outfit for sleeping, not running from undead. And she had left her emergency dagger back in the room. Creators, she was an idiot.

Her blood dripped onto the courtyard stone when she twisted the door open and pulled her hand out, cutting it even more. She called to Solas and turned—he was still fighting. She rushed forward and grabbed his hand. In a split second, frost traveled up her arm and numbed her nerves. When he recognized her a moment later, the cold melted away and he saw her arm. “What—”

“Come on,” she interrupted, tugging him toward the door. More undead were roaming the halls, and they hissed when they saw Lavellan. She released his hand, only so she could run faster. She dipped and wove between the dead, dancing out of their reach and jabbing at the ones she couldn’t twist away from. Solas did not try to fight the undead either; out of the corner of her eye, Lavellan saw a creature slip on a patch of ice on the floor and careen into another corpse.

They reached the foyer—the bandits that they had stumbled upon were gone. Lavellan tensed, but she could not think of them now. She turned to the stairs and took the steps two at a time. A chill tickled her skin as something rasped behind her; when she looked over her shoulder, Solas had thrown up another ice wall.

Lavellan grabbed one of the open books, grimacing as she felt spiderwebs ghost across her wrists, and smacked the corpse in the face. It went down, and she continued. Her arm was still bleeding. Lavellan was beginning to feel light-headed, but she would not pass out. It was only a few more steps to the bedroom. Just a few more steps…

When they burst into the bedroom, Dorian was awake, and Cole was still on the dresser. “What did you do to your arm?” Dorian asked, aghast. Solas took her wrist and sat down on the floor, pulling her down with him.

“I might have punched through glass to open a door,” Lavellan said. Dorian made a faint noise, making her defensive. “If I had my lockpicking kit, I would’ve used that instead, believe me. But being chased by corpses gives you limited options.”

“Corpses, you say? Hm. I _did_ wonder what that wave of magic was. I suppose I have my answer.”

Solas ran his fingers over Lavellan’s bleeding arm, his fingers bathed in purple light. His touch was cool and soothing. One by one, the glass shards—even the smallest speck—were plucked out of her skin by an invisible hand. “Yes. As soon as we get our armor on, we’re leaving. If I wanted to fight undead, I would’ve gone to the Fallow Mire.”

Dorian didn’t look nearly as worried as he should have. “Inquisitor, you are often a woman after my own heart. But you should know that if we return before dawn, I will be even deeper in debt than I already am. That is a fate I decidedly do _not_ want, thank you.”

Cole sat next to Lavellan, the brim of his hat bumping against her cheek. Lavellan smiled at him before frowning at Dorian. “What, you want us to stay in here?”

“It sounds like a perfectly reasonable alternative. The wards work, dawn is but a few more hours, and I don’t have to sleep on a lumpy bedroll or trek through the dark forest for the rest of the night.”

“ _Or_ , if we release the spirit,” Solas cut in, his tone curt, “then there will be no demon controlling the corpses, and we walk out unmolested—at dawn, if you prefer, Dorian.” His fingers ran over her arm again, knitting skin back together and wiping away stray blood with his thumb. “You should not have done that, lethallan. There were other ways.”

“Right. I should’ve used my knife to break the glass and let that corpse cut you down.”

His nostrils flared before he shut his eyes. His hold on her wrist had never changed from a gentle, clinical touch, but now his fingers tightened slightly. “Of course. I had forgotten to thank you for interfering when I had the situation under control. Ma serannas.”

Lavellan pulled her now-healed arm away, clenching her jaw and struggling to fight down the anger. _What an ass._ “She should not have done it. She should not have risked herself for me. Blood, bright and gushing—swaying, staggering steps, she might fall—there’s too much. If I had lost—”

“Cole, please, hush,” Solas said. He stood up and turned away. Lavellan’s anger melted away and she sighed, getting to her feet as well. She did her best to ignore the warmth she felt in her chest at the spirit’s words. Solas had still been an ass, after all.

“It would help,” Cole told Solas, who shook his head as he grabbed his staff. Lavellan climbed onto the bed next to Dorian and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. He kissed the top of her head, but his next words were quiet enough that only she could hear.

“My dear Inquisitor,” he said, taking a deep breath. There was a hitch in his voice that she couldn’t quite place. “Once we have had sufficient rest at Skyhold, I would like your leave to visit Redcliffe.”

Ah. So he and Cole had finished their talk after all. Lavellan tweaked his mustache and half-smiled when he frowned at her. “Of course, Dorian. Would you like me to go with you?”

“Nothing would please me more,” he confirmed, his tone once again cheery, confident, and _Dorian_. The Tevinter lifted his arm from around her shoulders and sat up, stretching. “Well, if Solas insists that we must free the spirit, then free the spirit we must do, because Solas is always correct. There are simply no other options, oh no.”

“I am pleased to hear you agree with me,” Solas said. “I am humbled, truly.”

Lavellan had to hide her laughter with a coughing fit. Dorian placed a palm over his heart. “Oh, Solas, you wound me so.”

Lavellan rolled off the bed and headed to the Cole-free dresser. Her bow rested against the side of the dresser, and her armor had been stacked atop it in a neat pile.  _Sweet Cole_. “I'm changing,” she said. She did not care if the men watched her or not, but it had been a simple courtesy they had all agreed on in the early days. She tugged her shirt over her head and started unlacing her breeches. As she dressed, she said, “Solas, what does that note say?”

She heard rustling paper; then Solas was reading the cook’s journal to them. When he finished with an ominous “I hope today is a good day,” the floor outside the door creaked. Lavellan slid on her vambraces and equipped her emergency dagger at her hip. At last, she fastened her quiver and grabbed her bow, smiling at its familiar weight in her hands.

They gathered at the door, weapons drawn and ready. Lavellan pulled an arrow from her quiver. “If they’re outside—Cole, I want you to clear a path for me, Dorian and Solas, and make sure you snap their necks. Solas, concentrate on our barriers. Dorian… light the bastards up.”

Dorian opened the door, and the horde of corpses flooded in. They were a mix of everything—some wore serving garb, others were clearly unlucky bandits, and she spotted one or two dancers. One of the undead wore a cook’s apron and held a meat cleaver in her hands. Half of her face was burned off and the other half looked like worn leather.

Lavellan shot an arrow through the cook’s eye, and when she turned around another undead bandit was swinging one of the decorative swords at her. She jumped backward, just barely avoiding the swing, but before she could take aim a strange purple light enveloped the corpse. The creature lowered his sword and turned to one of its brethren, chopping its head off with one clean stroke.

She looked at Dorian, who was staring at the corpse intently. The mage’s hand was outstretched and glowing with that same purple light. “Dorian, what did you do?” she shouted, unsheathing her dagger and slashing at a dancer who got too close.

“Saved your life, I’ll wager!” He turned and beat back a servant girl with his staff, engulfing her in flames when he was at a safe distance.

“ _Fenedhis_. You know what I meant!”

“What, did I forget to mention that I’ve—shall I say, dabbled in necromancy?” Dorian’s voice was the epitome of innocence.

“You’re a _necromancer_?” Lavellan yelled, cutting down another corpse. She could feel the sickly sweet taste of a barrier in her mouth, even as she distanced herself from the horde.

“I’d be a poor Tevinter if I wasn’t,” Dorian retorted. She heard the roar of a blaze and a group of undead went up in flames. “Didn’t you know? Blood magic, virgin sacrifice, and necromancy is the holy _trinity_ of magic in my homeland!”

“I swear to Mythal—”

She didn’t have a chance to answer, because she had to duck a swing from a bandit. Cole appeared from nowhere and stabbed him in the neck. In a few more minutes, the undead lay at their feet, necks broken or corpses charred so badly there was no chance any of them would ever get up again. The only one left standing was the one Dorian had possessed, a serving boy holding a steak knife. His blade hung at his side and he swayed slightly in place. His lower face had been burned away, and he had no hair left.

Lavellan did her best to ignore the serving boy’s filmy eyes and grinning jaw. She retrieved any arrows she could spare and swallowed to suppress her disgusted shudders. “Right. Well, let’s go find that balcony.”

She led them through the winding halls, taking the same route she had taken with Solas. No corpses interrupted them. When they got to the floor above the ballroom, Lavellan looked over the railing and saw more corpses shuffling underneath the dragon. They headed toward the staircase that would take them to the upper floor. To them.

Lavellan swallowed. _Makes a man feel he’s being hunted,_ the archer had told her. Well, he hadn’t been wrong. “We have to hurry,” she said. The glass doors led to the same balcony—the one where she and Solas had kissed, not the one with the glowing box. At last, when she found a small room with a third door… the door was locked.

“We need a key,” she said.

“Perhaps you could just break the glass,” Solas suggested dryly.

Lavellan glared at him. She knew he was still upset with her actions in the garden and didn’t mean for it to be taken seriously, but it didn’t stop her from slinging her bow over her back and unsheathing her dagger. “Wait—” Solas started, but Lavellan was already moving toward the door. She stopped in front of the doorknob and turned around. Solas had followed her, annoyance flickering over his face before it was replaced with worry. “Lethallan—”

Lavellan turned and smashed the dagger into the glass panel next to her.

Just before the hilt touched the glass, a blue glow sprung up over the door, and her knife hit the barrier instead of the panel. The magical explosion sent her flying back into Solas, who staggered into a bookshelf. The impact shook the bookcase and sent several books raining down around them.

When everything fell still, Lavellan tried to sit up and winced, running her fingers through her hair. A book had hit her head and now she could feel a bump on her scalp.

“Are you pleased with yourself?” Solas asked. There was no vitriol in his voice, though. Lavellan could feel her ears turning red with embarrassment, even as Dorian helped her up, suppressing a grin as he did so.

Solas got to his feet and said, “Ir abelas. That… was unnecessary of me. Are you hurt?”

“No. Are you?” Solas shook his head, and Lavellan crossed her arms. Maybe smashing the door just to spite him hadn’t been the best idea, but she wasn’t about to admit that in front of anyone, least of all him. “Good to hear. Let’s go find that key.”

* * *

By the time they fought through the undead hordes and found the balcony key, the sky was turning pink with a rosy dawn. “At least we won the bet,” Lavellan said, looking around. There was nothing on the grand balcony except for dead potted plants… and a box, crackling with magical light.

“Yes, how reassuring.” Dorian sighed. “Well, let’s get on with it.”

Lavellan turned her gaze back on the shimmering box. Cole stepped forward, his mouth pulled into a thin frown. “Trapped, twisting, twining halls. A golden prison was her present. She can’t get out, unless we open the door. She doesn’t want to get out, but… _she_ does.” Cole’s voice lowered at the second she.

“This will help her,” Lavellan promised him. She looked at Dorian and Solas. “Are you ready to face an abomination?”

When they nodded, Lavellan touched one of the gaping cracks in the box. Immediately, the box burst, filling the dark courtyard with such bright light she had to shield her eyes. When she lowered her arm, spots of white flickered across her vision.

The pool of water began to hum and turned the same bright blue that she had seen in the bath. A little girl rose from the depths of the still water. Her skin was grey and her blonde hair had fallen out in clumps, until all that was left of her hair were thin, stringy strands. Her white dress was soaked, and red spots of blood decorated the front of her skirt and bodice. A thick black line wove around her hem—soot stains. Instead of eyes, she had two glowing orbs of blue fire.

The creature that had once been Thérèse d’Onterre looked up at them. “Welcome!” she sing-songed. “Have you come to play?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you SO much for all the comments and kudos, guys! it means so much to me, you have no idea. :))
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this final chapter! thanks for reading xx

Cole disappeared in a burst of sickly green smoke. Lavellan grabbed an arrow and drew it taut, aiming and firing in one quick motion. The abomination held up her hands, and a blue barrier shimmered in front of her palms. The arrow bounced off the barrier and landed on the ground, and the abomination’s barrier dissipated. The abomination’s brow furrowed and she turned her wrist, watching blue flames flicker down her skin.

“She’s unused to the body,” Solas said, his voice low enough to be a hiss. “Let us use it to our advantage.”

Lavellan decided to save her arrows, but that didn’t stop movement from catching her eye. She could see the Orlesian dancer woman—hadn’t she left that particular corpse locked in the ballroom?—shuffling past the windows. Three other bodies followed her. All were heading to the glass doors… which led to the garden. Where _they_ were. “Solas—the doors. Barricade them,” she said. Solas drew his attention away from the abomination for just a moment to look at the doors—their eyes locked, and he nodded imperceptibly.

A wall of ice began to grow on every door that led outside. Lavellan breathed a sigh of relief, then turned back to the abomination—only to see that a larger, much stronger barrier had formed around her, blocking all of Dorian’s fireballs.

Cole was inside the barrier with her. And instead of attacking the abomination, Cole was staring at her in wide-eyed confusion. “Fenedhis,” Solas swore, softly. Lavellan shouldered her bow, ready to jump down and help, but Solas stopped her. “You have a tactical advantage with elevation, Inquisitor. Do not give it up so easily.”

Before she could reply, or even move to help Cole, the abomination was speaking—and her words, despite the difference, were loud and clear. “Brother,” the abomination said, voice choked with tears. She held Cole’s wrist in her hand. Her arm was straining to keep his dagger from embedding itself into her heart. “What are you doing?”

“I help the hurt and kill the killers. Slaughtering, scorching, scaring. You’re a killer.”

The abomination was weeping—Lavellan could not see any actual tears, but the _sounds_ she was making… she heard another child’s sob somewhere in the air. “Careful, Cole,” Dorian called. He actually sounded panicked, even as he shot fireballs toward the barrier to weaken it.

His voice just as loud, Solas added, “This creature is a demon masquerading as a girl. It will say anything it thinks you need to hear.”

“You want to help. I know,” the abomination continued, heedless of Solas’s words. “Listen to me, Compassion, _brother._ Can’t you feel Thérèse’s hurt? She wanted a friend. I healed that hurt inside of her. And now there’s hurt in me. If you attack me, you’ll only make the hurt worse. Can’t you sense it?”

“It’s lying to you, Cole!” Lavellan screamed. “Don’t trust it!”

Cole looked up at her, his eyes wide and confused. The abomination took the opportunity to gently pry his dagger out of his grip. “You… help,” Cole said. “You helped Thérèse. But you didn’t help the others. You want to experience everything for yourself, seeing, searching, sensing.”

“That’s right,” the abomination sniffed. “You can feel the hurt in me, can’t you? All I want is to see the world. I help people, too, Cole. You and I, we both want to help.”

“Do not listen, Cole!” Solas warned. The barrier shimmered, and he and Dorian sent combined tendrils of electricity. The lightning sparked across the edges of the barrier and died out, but the barrier rippled in response.

Cole looked at them on the balcony and disappeared. Lavellan’s heart caught in her throat. Dorian swore in Tevene. “No,” Solas whispered. He was just as horrified as she was.

Had he left them? Had a demon convinced Cole, sweet Cole who loved kittens and helping people, to turn on them? Could she expect a blade to the kidneys as she was spearing arrows through the throats of the undead?

The ice wall was melting. They only had a few more minutes before the dead could come through the doors. And worse, they had lost Cole. Dorian and Lavellan exchanged a look. She moved between the mages and loaded an explosive shot. “Once that barrier falls, hit her with everything you’ve got,” she said. “I’ll keep the corpses off of you.”

They nodded their assent, even though they were all shaken by the loss of Cole. The abomination sighed quietly and turned the knife in her hand before she tossed it aside. “Well, now that that’s done, let’s get this over with,” she said. She flicked her arms at the walls of ice covering the door, and a wall of fire rose up, melting the ice in seconds. When the fire died out, the real battle ensued.

Every single corpse, even the ones they had cut down, came out of the four doors. Dorian stuck out his hand, and a burly chevalier glowed with purple light. At least they had someone on their side down there.

 _No_ , she thought. Cole would come back. He _would_.

She turned toward a horde on the balcony and let loose her explosive arrow. The bodies scattered—some even fell off the balcony from the force of the explosion—but she heard the horror’s peal of delighted laughter and felt a shiver run down her back. A moment later, she saw the bodies that had not been blown off the balcony begin to knit back together. _It won’t end,_ she realized. _They’ll just keep coming._

It was like the ramparts at the Exalted Plains all over again. “Any time you want to kill the horror, be my guest,” she said, addressing Dorian.

“Not the time, love,” Dorian gritted out. He slammed his staff into the balcony. Arcs of electricity shot between the corpses on the ground and combined to slam into the horror. Purple light raced across her body, making her choke out a scream. When she looked back, the blue fire in her eyes burned brighter.

Lavellan turned and lunged toward a corpse that had gotten too close to Solas. She beat it back with her bow and spun on her left heel just as Heir had shown her, swinging her other heel up and kicking the corpse across the jaw. When it staggered back, she pushed it off the balcony. It landed on two other corpses. She couldn’t help her small, self-satisfied smile as she turned back and fired more arrows.

Solas swung his staff in his hand and outstretched a palm, and a telltale cool breeze swept across the courtyard. The sky was lightening, which only highlighted the dark stormcloud that had begun to gather. Dorian started laughing. “Solas, you brilliant man!”

While the rest of the Emerald Graves was caught in the dead of summer, it began to thundersnow in the garden at the Chateau. Corpses slowed to a stop in the driving blizzard, and when they were frozen solid lightning bolts struck them, shattering them on impact. “I love magic!” Lavellan cheered, blinking away the snowflakes gathering on her eyelashes. She sent flaming arrows at the creatures that were still standing.

A thief who had not been caught in the blizzard was heading straight for them. Lavellan unsheathed her dagger. She threw it, but before the knife embedded itself in the corpse’s skull, a purple spirit caught it in midair and charged toward the dead man. In a flash, the spirit flashed around the corpse, and hope lightened her chest. _Cole?_

Another heartbeat passed, and the spirit disappeared, leaving the knife on the ground. “That’s a nice trick,” Dorian called. “We shall have to work on it a bit, but I daresay it has potential!”

So it had been him, then. Not Cole. She swallowed her disappointment.

Lavellan swung her bow at a serving man’s head and pushed him off the balcony, then ran to get the knife. As she bent to scoop it up, a shriek of rage interrupted her. She hesitated and looked at the horror.

The horror burst into flames that licked across her skin, not damaging her body but melting the ice that had formed solid across her body, allowing her to be hit by everything the mages threw at her. “Enough!” the horror roared. In the blink of an eye, she was gone, and Lavellan felt frozen, half-rotted fingers wrap around her elbow. She felt a pull in her stomach—a more nauseating feeling than when Solas Fade-stepped—and then her head was spinning and she was in front of the pool of water. The horror’s hands wrapped around her neck. “I want you to _stop_!”

Lavellan had already grabbed her dagger, but the red pulse of magic made her arm drop to the side and stay there. Solas and Dorian stood upright as well, making no move to attack. The corpses remained in place, but they had lost interest in fighting anyone—they simply swaying from side to side.

The horror behind her was panting. “It’s a good thing darling Thérèse was so powerful at compulsion,” she said. “But, alas, she did not ever think about what she could do with it. It was always, _Cook, get me a cookie_ or _Cook, read me a story_. Nothing else worthwhile about her, though. If I only had the chance to develop it… but no. This body simply will not do anymore. You, though, Inquisitor Lavellan. You will do nicely.”

“You will not have her, demon,” Solas said. He didn’t move, but his slate-blue eyes were stormy gray.

“Will you offer yourself, instead?” the demon asked, her voice high and innocent. Lavellan tried to move her hand, but it only twitched in response. This wasn’t the Fade. She couldn’t overcome magic with her will alone.

Solas took too long to answer her. “Solas, no,” Lavellan gritted. Her next words were directed toward the monster behind her. “ _Fenedhis lasa_.”

“No, you’re right,” the demon said, ignoring the curse. She released her clammy grip on Lavellan and turned around. She was truly an abomination, with her destroyed clothes, gray skin, and balls of fire for eyes. Lavellan had never seen one, but she had thought that all the stories had been exaggerated. She had been wrong. “You would be a much better choice. For many reasons.” Though there was nothing human left in her face, it somehow softened, turned sad. “I only wish to see the world, Inquisitor. I would be a presence at the back of your mind. I would never take control of you. This I swear.”

“Like you swore you would never take control of that little girl, I suppose?” Dorian drawled. His fingers were white around the grip of his staff. The abomination’s face tightened and she joined Lavellan’s side, casually yanking Lavellan’s body down so Lavellan was at her height.

“Shall I tell you their deepest desires? Dear Thérèse was in the box, but nothing prevented me from traveling the Fade. Shall I tell you what I saw, Inquisitor?” There was nothing joyful or childlike in her voice now. “Let’s start with you. You want to go see your clan again. Your family. I could give you that. Thérèse told me all about Thedas’s geography. She was so desperate for a friend, poor thing.”

“My clan is dead,” Lavellan spat. “And even if they were alive, I would never submit to you, demon. You have nothing to offer any of us.”

The abomination hummed, her fingers tightening on Lavellan’s chin. “Truly? What about Pride? Or should I say Solas? He wants to fix his worst mistake. That has been his desire for the longest time. But do you know what I saw last night, two hours ago? I saw a new wish, creeping to usurp the others.”

“She already knows,” Solas replied, but he had gone very still—even stiller than he would’ve been if there was no compulsion.

“I am doing you a courtesy,” the demon growled at him. “Have you no gratitude for my omissions?”

 _Omissions? What omissions?_ Lavellan stared at Solas, but he kept his focus on the monster beside her. “You are a demon, trying to prove your point in hopes that the Inquisitor will agree to be your new host. Nothing you do is from the kindness of your heart. I want nothing from you.”

Fire sprouted in the abomination’s palm and she fisted her hand with a quiet snarl. The abomination thread her fingers through Lavellan’s hair and tilted her head up. “He’s begun to dream of calling you vhenan, and you him,” the demon said. Lavellan swallowed, and did not reply. _Foolishness_ , he’d called it. “He’s begun to dream of what may be. And I know you wish the same. I can _feel_ it.”

The abomination twisted Lavellan’s hair and pulled her head back. The creature stared down at her, the blue fireballs boring into her eyes. “ _Say yes_ , Ellana, and everything you want will become reality.”

Lavellan spat in her face. Thérèse reeled back, and the compulsion broke. Lavellan let go of her knife and dropped to her hands and knees, her stomach rolling. _I almost got possessed._ “If I cannot have you, I will find another,” the demon promised. “You are of no use to me—none of you!”

Lavellan saw her knife get picked up by a mottled grey hand out of the corner of her eye. _Get up,_ she told herself, but her muscles wouldn’t obey her. She was still dry-heaving on the lawn. Was this how Cullen had felt, trapped in that Ferelden Circle? Was this how Vivienne had felt when she went through her Harrowing?

The demon stepped in front of her, and Lavellan saw a barrier shimmering over her shoulder. Solas and Dorian had gotten off the balcony and were running to them. “I’ll kill you first,” the half-rotted little girl said, sweetly, showing all of her teeth in her smile. Lavellan saw the glint of metal as it raised in the air.

A different knife sprouted in the center of her stomach. “Dark and desperate, death to make yourself alive,” Cole said. “I used to be like you.”

The barrier behind them shattered, and the abomination let go of the knife with a guttural choke. “Brother,” she gasped, clutching her stomach as dark red began to stain the bodice of her dress.

“I am not like you,” Cole whispered in reply. The fire dimmed in the girl’s eyes, and for a moment Lavellan thought she saw Thérèse d’Onterre in her expression—innocence, and fear, and most of all, _relief_. Then the fire died out and the body crumpled to the ground, and so did the undead in the garden.

When Lavellan’s stomach quieted, she scrambled to her feet. “You’re back!” she cried, throwing herself at Cole. She petted his hair and pulled back, smiling widely. She couldn’t be angry with him. She couldn’t. He had come back and saved her life.

“I’m sorry,” Cole said, looking down at his shoes. “She confused me. She was lying, and… not lying. I had to think before I could come back. And when I did, she was going to kill you. Anger, scorching, shaming, why won’t she say yes? I had to kill her first.”

Dorian and Solas had reached her by now. Dorian grabbed her shoulders and gave her a critical once-over, then grinned. “You’re alive! _And_ I get my money! What a marvelous turn of events. The only thing that would have made this better if we _hadn’t_ had to fight an abomination and her army of dead Orlesians.”

“I am glad to see you have returned to us, Cole,” Solas said, but his eyes were on her.

Lavellan returned Dorian’s grin and embraced him, tuning out the conversation beside her. “You should’ve told me about your necromancy earlier,” she told him. “Did you see that knife-throwing thing that we did? Think of the other things we could do together! Dorian, it’s amazing!”

Dorian smiled, something like relief in his eyes, and didn’t answer. She couldn’t help but wonder if he had ever been met with such ready acceptance of his necromancy—if the Inquisition would accept him as a necromancer. She set her jaw. Of course he would. Dorian was her best friend, and she’d be damned if someone like Mother Gisele turned the whole Inquisition against him.

Lavellan hugged him again, just to prove her silent point, and turned away to face Solas. They stared at each other for a short, quiet moment, and Lavellan gave him an uncertain smile. Solas returned it, but Dorian still cleared his throat. “Cole, why don’t you and I fetch the packs? What a marvelous idea.”

They left the garden, and Lavellan and Solas were alone. “What the demon said—” Solas began. Lavellan shook her head.

“Means nothing,” she said. His face clouded, and she shut her eyes, realizing what that sounded like. “Mythal’enaste, that’s not what I meant. I meant that her words… you said that you wanted time, Solas. You can have all the time you want. That hasn’t changed. The only person I’ll listen to when it comes to our relationship is you.” Her face flushed. _I know you want the same_ , the demon had said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “As long as you give me the same courtesy.”

“Of course.” He smiled, and this time it reached his eyes. “I… thank you, lethallan. You continue to surprise me.”

Lavellan laughed. “As much as I love surprising you, I’d rather it doesn’t involve abominations anymore.”

“I agree. Are you well?”

“I’ll be fine. It didn’t hurt me. What about you?” She stepped toward him, drawing closer. He gave her a soft smile and nodded.

Dorian and Cole returned with all four packs. “I can feel my coin purse growing heavier,” Dorian declared, handing Lavellan her pack. “Don’t you just love it when that happens?”

“Absolutely. Favorite thing in the world.” She grinned at him. They were safe. They were all safe. That was what mattered. 

“But you don’t have any money right now,” Cole said.

Dorian smiled. “Just so, Cole. Just so.”

They left the garden and entered one of the many halls of the Chateau—and while the torches did not light automatically for them, it somehow felt brighter and warmer than when they had first entered. Lavellan went to an archway, but there was nothing familiar about the interior. It was another nondescript hallway. There weren’t even any paintings or lion statues to give her a clue of where they were. “I… we may be lost,” she admitted, to Dorian’s muttered “wonderful.”

Before she could figure out where to go next, a voice drifted through the halls. All of them heard it, and everyone stiffened—everyone except for Cole. The spirit lifted his head, awe clear in his expression. “Listen,” he whispered. Lavellan heard a strain of song again, but this time…

This time, she could understand the lullaby. “ _Bright morning stars are rising_ ,” a voice sang. A flickering blue shade drifted in front of them. The spirit of Thérèse d’Onterre watched them, humming, and turned around. Without thinking, Lavellan began to follow her.

“ _Bright morning stars are rising_ ,” Thérèse repeated, her voice drifting higher with the repeated verse. She turned a corner, and Lavellan saw the staircase that led to the library. “ _Bright morning stars are rising. Daylight is a-breaking in my soul_.”

Singing her song, clear and beautiful as the day, the spirit accompanied them to the front gate. At the last moment, her features flickered into clarity again. Lavellan saw a beaming little girl, wearing her mother’s pearls with absolute joy shining from her face. “ _Daylight is a-breaking in my soul_ ,” Thérèse sang. She lifted her arms to the sky, and the wind swept her away.

“Ar lasa mala revas,” Solas murmured.

Cole nodded, smiling. “We helped her,” he said, his approval evident. “It’s just a house, now. It can’t hurt anyone else. Never again.”

“Let’s get back to camp,” she suggested. Dorian was the first one to head toward the forest, and Solas and Cole soon followed suit. Lavellan tilted her head to the sky, basking in the rising sun’s warmth. With one final look over her shoulder, Lavellan turned and walked away from the Chateau.

* * *

When they finally returned to camp, it was at least ten o’clock.

Smitt was the first one who saw them, and he scrambled to his feet. “Your Worship,” Smitt said, his eyes wide. “You… you did it. You stayed the night at the Chateau?” When she gave an exhausted nod, he looked her up and down. “What— _happened_ in there?”

Lavellan adjusted her pack and glanced down to examine herself. For one, her armor was stained with the undead’s blood. Her quiver was half-empty. And she was sure she had circles under her eyes, since her dream at the Chateau had been less than a good night’s sleep.

“I’ll tell you when we eat dinner,” she told him. “But for now, I want you to hunt down everyone who bet against me. I want every damn copper they put down.”


End file.
